Pygmaliron
by NovaGirl
Summary: Caitlin's made a betbut she could never have bet what chaos one wager could unleash. WIP, R&R.


Pygmaliron

Hey! I don't own 6teen, or Bernard Shaw's Pygmalion. I do own my penname and some Japanese shirts. Yay!  
R&R and please, enjoy. Go ahead and flame if you want, though, I can take it. ;)

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"Hey, _lemonhead._" What a wonderful start to her day.  
"Hi, Tricia." Caitlin looked up—yes, it was her. And someone else; her newest boyfriend, apparently. Thick brown hair, deep blue eyes. Tricia's favourite kind of dreamboat.  
_Mine too, come to think of it,_ She mused, sipping her own lemonade with a smile of admiration.  
"Oh, that's right...I can't remember if you've met my boyfriend, Nathan Travers?"  
The lemonade went down the wrong way, and her mouth tasted sour.

Nathan Travers—Nathan Travers? The boy who never stopped writing, ever? The one who wrote four page poetic epics about how they hated contact lenses for FUN?

Apparently so.

His glasses were gone, and he stood tall. His boho mane had been tamed, teeth whitened. He was dressed impeccably—delicate touches of designer goods gave him twenty degrees of class.  
Tricia created a man who was way too good for her—and kept him anyway.Caitlin made herself smile, and shook his hand warmly.  
"Just in case we haven't, I'm Caitlin Cooke. Pleased to meet you." He murmured back a pleasantry with studied casualness.  
_Impressive teen etiquette. He knows not to be too warm to a girl he can't be attracted to. He knows appropriate hand-shaking time!  
_"Two lemonades, please," Tricia ordered, smirk saying it all. Caitlin couldn't really argue. With the other members of the gang either hunting for work or slaving, she was just the lemonhead.

With that thought in mind, she turned her focus back onto the blender—not the brunettes, not the posters for the charity ball that was more than three months away. The two were served. But as she watched Tricia and her creation walk away, arm in arm, Caitlin pursed her lips and murmured to herself,

"_I _could've done that." The thought jolted her.

_I could have, and I've done it before. It just...it just didn't work before, with Darth, because he was happy in his own skin before I tampered with it. I did do wonders with concealer, though. Nathan wasn't happy on his own—I hate to admit it, but his life is probably BETTER because of Tricia. I want to do that. I want to make a man a better man. _

_And I want to do it better than Tricia._

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"Mommy! Mommy, I want a Nerf gun! Where's my Nerf gun?" 5:58, and he was asking for toys. Sylvia was aching for a cigarette. It'd have to wait. Navigating the rush of shoppers and workers as they all headed for the same four exits was a challenge in itself.

_Stanley's a good kid. Go easy on him,_ the reasonable part of her brain insisted.

"Sweetie, I looked all day for one, and the stores are all out. All of them."  
"You're lying! You didn't look in FoamArms, did you?"  
"Stanley, that was the very first place I looked!"  
Late February had led to dismal weather—everyone was in a rush to get home before the sleet hindered their vehicles too miserably.  
A rather violent rush—Sylvia found herself shoved into a broad torso, her heel tripping her into him with a surprising amount of force.  
She and the man both tumbled to the ground, her purchases skidding across the floor. He groaned faintly.

"Your impractical footwear is a hindrance for tight maneuvers, madam. Might I recommend _any_ non-stiletto." He scowled down at her after he got up, and she adjusted her scarf, gritting her teeth.

Of all the chests to fall into, it had to be the Rent-a-Cop's. She picked up her bags, and hurried away. She didn't like being anywhere near him if she didn't have to be. Besides, Stanley still bellowed for toys.  
She had no time to waste.

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The gang never left the mall without a rendezvous.  
Caitlin wasn't sure when this tradition had begun; if she had to guess, she'd say it was in existence long before she became their friend She studied the men she could see—who needed her help the most?  
"Hey Caitlin." Jen sat down at the table first, sighing lightly as she stretched.  
"What are you up to?" Caitlin smiled brightly, looking up.  
"I'm going to save a man's social life!"  
Jen didn't follow. Yet.  
Her mouth and her eyes and her hands all worked in unison. Her friends trickled to the table, and slowly but surely they heard of her theories, her beliefs.  
"So let me get this straight. Because Tricia took a hapless boy who was probably happy where he was and made him cookie cutter, you want to do the same." Nikki wasn't impressed.  
"Nikki, it's not like that at all. He will be invited to more parties. He will branch out. He will branch out and blossom! And when he goes off to college next year, he'll have to confidence for anything. All guys need more confidence."  
"Except Jonesy."  
"Hey!"  
"I bet you anything that I could do what she did," She murmured thickly, eyes catching wind of a fight in the crowd. "And with someone_ really_ clueless, not just a little...odd."

"MOVE IT, YOU MAGGOTS!"  
Caitlin sighed. Ron was all but snarling at the miscellaneous shoppers—everyone who kept the door open on such a cold night was a maggot or a punk or a miserable worm, it would seem.  
His eyes snapped over to the Lemon with comparable ice to the storm. His stride carried him over to loom over the table.

"Perhaps you are unaware of the time, which approaches 5:59:23 ever sooner. I recommend evacuation of the premises. Now, soldiers!" Caitlin's eyes swept up over him. It wasn't long ago she'd taken pity on him, helped him become himself again. Now she'd make him a better self to be.

"Hey, Ron? Okay, this is going to sound crazy, but I wanna give you a makeover...um...it'll be fun?"  
The five other teens tried not to snicker.  
"That's something I sincerely doubt. Now I recommend that you evacuate the premises. All of you. The hour is 17:59."  
Caitlin pressed onward.  
"Oh, come on! In three months, I could take you to any party of my parents and pass you off as the biggest poobah EVER! With Daddy's connections, you could be set up as a politician, or a public speaker, which require WAY..um...less frighteningness..." Her voice trailed off guiltily.  
There was a long moment of silence between them all. It was Ron who broke the silence in the end.  
"Eighteen hundred. Closing time."

The gang left the mall that night with nothing more than quiet murmurs between them.  
"Bummer, dude."  
"Well, you offered, He shot you down. Harshly, too. But what'd you expect?"Caitlin wasn't sure what she'd expected.  
But she hadn't expected to feel so...stung.  
"Ah well. Plenty other men in this mall to save."  
"Like that guy at the Penalty Box?" Jen suggested.  
"Yeah! Like him. Or the guy who lives in the bungalow."  
"Hey, I might be a miracle worker, but he'd need Wonder Woman! And I totally don't do stripes."  
Laughter carried them into the night, and they thought no more about the Rent-a-Cop.


End file.
